Bartender Abuse

Last night left me fuzzy as my friend Miss Cragg has this top of the line vaporizer called The Volcano. The lack of smoke is far healthier and you can actually taste the commodity as ifit were a vintage '73 Bordeaux.

Earlier in the evening I got to wear the duchebag hat in the way I interacted with the female bar tenders at the two different bars we visited. The first one almost threw me out when I dropped a beer glass. I should clarify that it was a slip that wasn't due to drunkenness just stupidity. Okay 10% from drunkenness, 20% wet hands from the pouring rain and 70% stupidity.

This glass incident was not the major offense. This was piggy-backing on the fact that when I arrived I thought for sure without a sliver of doubt that she (the barmaid) was my friend Eileen who I have not seen in forever and so I loudly yelled "YO! Bar Wench! YO, YO... Bar WENCH!" to get a drink. It would have been so funny for her to see it was in fact me and we'd giggle about it. Sadly that didn't happen. After bellowing my hipster cro-mag summons I saw the mix of bewildered rage in her expressive eyes it dawned on me that this was not Eileen. An amazing doppelganger but still not her. I had to explain to this offended bar tender lady that I'd made a mistake and I apologized profusely. She didn't really buy my excuse or accept my apology. After she picked up my shattered glass that act put me in a special class of a-hole customer shame normally reserved for abusive ex boyfriends and public masturbators.

At the second bar there was an off work waitress who was trashed drunk and asked if she could sit at our table. Now, when I say "our table" I don't mean at a seat near our table I mean physically, literally on our table. She just plopped down and knocked over a few drinks. Not mine. This was just the sort of rare live entertainment that one must normally pay for. I proceeded to engage her with several questions and veiled put downs for the benefit of my drinking cohorts I was out with.

I lured her into sharing her massively slurred stories about the guys she'd slept with. I particularly like her exaggerated facial expressions as she regaled us with her tale of being a groupie for blink 182 and getting to go back stage but having to "fake" being high. "Cuz, like I wanteded themz ta fink I was cool so, um, like, um, like... I did what I did... I was what I did... I did-- pretend...ed to be high so they would think I was cool is what I did and I... it... it worked."

Then Miss Cragg and I watched as the gallant men we began the evening with proceeded to sandwich dance with Jessica. We also looked through the contents of her hughgantic, tremungous, purse.

I think I was a loud mouth a-hole that night but none of my understanding and accommodating friends seemed to mind. I thank them for their kind indulgence. I pitched a good game and I believe it was a resounding Friday night win for the team. I must now strive to tip my way back from societal outcast status.